One Small Victory
by She's a Star
Summary: Women, Weiss thinks to himself for maybe the thousandth time, should come with a user manual. (SydWeiss friendship, early s3)


**One Small Victory**

_By She's a Star_

**Disclaimer:** Alias belongs to J.J.

**Author's Note:** This idea randomly came to me last night, and I decided I had to write it for two reasons. One is because I haven't written anything in approximately 835873 years and I am having update withdrawals. Two is that Syd and Weiss being all friendshippy in the beginning of season 3 was so cute and sweet, and wow, when did that disappear, anyway? But, yes. Anyway.

--

"Weiss?" Sydney ventures almost timidly on Monday morning, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, sure," he replies, and tries to sound as casual as he can. He knows that the last thing she wants is pity; he respects her for it. Hell, if _he'd_ woken up to find that he'd lost two years of his life, and that Vaughn had gotten married—

Well, okay, that part wouldn't have been so traumatic. Maybe he would have been pissed about not being able to be the best man, or something.

But the point is, he gets that Syd is hurting. And that she has every right to be. And that she might kick his ass if he blatantly expresses the fact that he feels sorry for her.

Hence the casual.

"Is . . ." She inhales sharply, takes a sip of her coffee, and then tries again. "Is she a natural blonde?" Her eyes are fixed unwaveringly on the Styrofoam cup as she speaks.

He almost wants to laugh at this, but decides that's probably not the kind of response she wants. And the thing is, he has no idea – weirdly enough (or not), he and Mike don't spend much time discussing his wife's true hair colour. Which could very well be blonde.

But he figures that Sydney deserves at least one small victory, after everything else she's lost.

"I saw a box of Clairol on their kitchen counter the last time I went over there," he lies smoothly. "Number thirty-two, sheer blonde."

Sydney meets his eyes and smiles, just a little bit. "Oh."

"Yep," Weiss says. A silence rises between them, a little awkward. And then it quickly morphs into a lot awkward.

"I just – I was just wondering," adds Sydney, forcedly businesslike all of a sudden. "Because . . . because she has nice hair."

"I guess so," Weiss agrees, shrugging.

"She does," Sydney says, more firmly this time, and suddenly she's staring him down like he's just done something mortally offensive. "Vaughn's wife has nice hair."

"I didn't say she didn't have nice hair," Weiss reminds her, and tells himself that there's no reason to be scared right now. Nope, no reason at all. It's not like she's the offspring of two unnaturally badass and on occasion scary-as-hell super-spies, or anything. "Her hair is nice. Lauren's got nice hair."

Sydney nods wistfully, all fierceness immediately erased. Women, Weiss thinks to himself for maybe the thousandth time, should come with a user manual.

He watches her sip her coffee, utterly dejected, and for a second he wonders why Mike couldn't have just waited around a little bit longer. Not that he thinks he shouldn't have gotten married – Sydney had been dead. The ashes-at-sea, quit-drowning-your-sorrows-in-hard-liquor-'cause-she's-not-coming-back kind of dead. But it's just that seeing her like this – all alive, and depressed, and doing the hair-tuck thing nonstop – it's hard to watch.

"But, ya know," he says, leaning confidentially across the table and reaching for a sugar packet, "I always figured that the whole 'blondes have more fun' deal? Just a big myth."

She meets his eyes and a smile begins to play at one corner of her mouth. "Oh, really?"

"Oh, yeah." He rips open the sugar and pours it into her coffee. "Definitely. I mean, Marilyn Monroe? No fun. And just look at Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction. _Completely_ screwed over by Michael Douglas."

Sydney giggles a little, an almost-sparkle in her eyes. He feels oddly triumphant.

"Overall?" he concludes, stirring her coffee with a straw and pushing it back toward her. "I've gotta say the brunettes reign supreme."

She laughs, genuinely; he finds himself tempted to embark in a victory dance, but tastefully refrains. Instead, he just grins back and hopes like hell that things will get easier. Someday.


End file.
